Page 6 of Conrad

No, he couldn’t do this?—

He turned, and nearly plowed over?—

“Conrad!”

Penelope Pepper.She held her hands up, catching his wrists, balancing herself a little.

If he thought he’d lost his breath before . . . He just stared at her, not sure if his thundering heartbeat was panic or . . . awe.

He’d forgotten—or maybe simply tried to forget—the effect she had on him. The high cheekbones that framed the curve of her face, those golden-brown eyes, dark on the outside, radiating to a glimmer of light around the irises, her full, shaped lips, now smiling.

She wore her dark hair swept back and up, trickling in chocolate waves around her slender neck. A white faux-fur shawl wrapped over a white V-necked silk top with puffy sleeves, and a belted long teal skirt. And she smelled—well, not quite exotic, but exciting and fresh and tempting.

And right then, something he’d dismissed awoke inside him.

“Penelope,” he managed, aware of her hands on his wrists. He turned them and grabbed hers back. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to plow you over.”

“I missed you too, Con.” She laughed, pushed out of his grasp and smoothed her hands on his chest. “And I should know better than to stand too close to a Blue Ox.” Then she winked, andyes, Jack,Penelope seemedJust. Fine.“A gal can get knocked over way too easily.”

He had no words for that.

She peered past him toward the foyer, and her eyes widened, her mouth opening to a perfect O. “I see the problem.”

“A poster-sized problem.”

Then, just like that, she turned him around, stepped up beside him, and slipped her hand around his arm. “Steady on, soldier. This is for the kids.” Then she looked up and winked. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

Cameras flashed as she walked him into the event.

And he didn’t know whether to hold on, or run.

* * *

It didn’t have to be fake. Penelope liked Conrad—really.

Who wouldn’t love a guy who stood over six feet, with tousled dark-blond hair, a rakish beard, devastating blue eyes, and owned the room with his smile?

If a gal went for athletes, that was.

He cleaned up well too, in that velvet-and-silk jacket, the cute bow tie, all the red highlights standing out in his trimmed beard. He even smelled good. Woodsy, with a little cinnamon spice thrown in.Yum.And his grip on her as he’d nearly knocked her over—well, a girl might hold on to that.

If she needed help.

Which she didn’t.

But he made good cover, and tonight was all about subterfuge. For thekids.

She didn’t have to show an invitation at the door, of course, and neither did Conrad. She simply pointed to his overlarge and—wow—blown-up picture, and security waved them inside the Frederick mansion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” she said as he walked her into the foyer jammed with guests making their way to the second-floor anterooms and the third-floor ballroom. A grand chandelier splashed light on the blue carpet that led up the mahogany staircase with the scrolled banisters. The place felt even more regal than her own home, and that history stretched back to the 1880s.

In each of the second-floor rooms, a representative from one of the many EmPowerPlay sports teams offered more information about their respective team—soccer, baseball, volleyball, and of course, hockey.

Probably, Tia would be upstairs, mingling, glad-handing, and stoking the charitable fires.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text back earlier,” he said as they moved forward, toward the stairs, and she couldn’t resist a glance at the magnificent poster. Not just of Conrad, of course, but the whole first line, the goalie, their leading wings and defensemen, and the other center, a rookie.

The caption on the top saidSons of the North.

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